


When The Storm Finally Ends, and the Seas Settle

by musicat56



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicat56/pseuds/musicat56
Summary: Almost 10 years after leaving Westeros Arya ends up shipwrecked in Storm's End.  From there she travels to Winterfell with Gendry for the 10 year Anniversary Festival of the Dawn....  She finds out some interesting things have happened and her siblings are a lot closer than she remembers.This story has Gendarya, Jonsa as it's main relationships but also focuses on the non-romantic relationships between these characters.  It's told in multiple POVs.





	1. Chapter 1 - Arya Stark

_Chapter 1 - Arya Stark_

For a few peaceful moments Arya thought she was dead.  Then the clouds sitting upon her brain lifted and the pounding intensified to such a state that she was convinced if she was actually dead it was far from the gift the faceless men heralded it to be.

“My Lady,” drifted a concerned voice into her fragmented mind and Arya was shocked to see another person was in the room with her.  Their face was blurry but they appeared to have the demeanor of a maester and not that of a shaman or priestess.

“You should drink,” spoke the presumed Maester and she accepted the cup from him with a trembling hand.  It tasted merely of water upon first sip and a great thirst overcame her.  She drank hungrily, her need for fluids overcoming her natural wariness.

A few moments later she felt the pain abating but her mind felt foggier.  She fell back into a restless sleep full of kracken’s and dragons and her ship breaking up against the rocks.  The winds kept blowing her off her course, keeping her forever from her destination.  She wanted to quit, but then there was a voice pulling her back to consciousness.  “How is she?” it asked, breaking her from her sleep after what could have been minutes or years later.  She half wanted to let her mind drift into obscurity, to let her slumber continue but the timbre of the voice kept her alert.

 “She woke briefly, but appeared in such pain I gave her water mixed with milk of the poppy.”

The man did not reply to the maester though Arya heard the chair next to the bed she was lying on creak with his weight.  She waited until the maester left before opening her eyes.  He wasn’t looking at her when she did, but at the window behind her.  She had only gotten better at reading faces over the years and his expression worried her.

“Am I at Storm’s End?” she finally asked him, drawing his eyes suddenly to her.  He looked shocked for a few moments before slowly nodding.  He might as well have been the one half conscious in his sick bed with an addled mind.  “Gendry, can you tell me how I came to be here?” she probed.

He shook his head and she wondered if he had been rendered mute in the intervening years.

“You can’t tell me how I ended up sick in a bed in your castle?”

He coloured at her question, but it seemed to finally break him from his spell of silence.  “Your ship, it broke on the rocks.  Ser Davos spied it.  Sent men out to see if there were any survivors.”

Arya nodded, her heart clenching at the mention of survivors.  Her crew was gathered over many years, free spirits and refuges picked up at ports throughout the world until they represented her closest friends, her chosen family and not just the men and women who minded her sails.

“Were there any?” she asked him quietly, dreading the response she knew was coming, that she could sense by the look on Gendry’s face.  The one that clearly gave no good news but felt a girl sick in bed should be spared.  But then he must have remembered she was no ordinary girl.  “No,” he replied solemnly.  “Only you.”

She turned her head least he see the single tear that escaped as it slipped down her cheek.  “How long have I been here?” she asked him, pretending to look for answers out the window, searching for a trace of the life she knew, another path vanishing.  She had been frozen, she had been burnt and she had survived.  Now she had drowned too?

“It’s been a little over a fortnight,” he replied and when she looked back to him she suddenly realized that he appeared to have neither slept nor shaved in that time himself.  “I apologize for causing you so much trouble,” she replied, looking down at the calluses on her hands.  Before he could contradict the inconvenience of her showing up at his castle after all these years she cut him off, “I was on my way to the Summer Isles.”

Was she afraid he would presume she had meant to come here?  That she had meant to find him and not just been blown off course by the powerful winds.

He nodded.

She should leave now before she caused him any more trouble.  “All that I owned was upon that ship,” she mused more to herself than him.  She might have stood up and left anyway but she was suddenly aware of the thin shift she was wearing in place of her usual tunic.  She did not even have a weapon upon her body.  It had been years since she was unarmed. 

“I hate to trouble you further but if you could return my clothing to me I will be off.”

“Your shirt was torn badly,” replied Gendry as he stood from his chair and summoned a servant to bring her some clothing.  It hit her that despite his hazard appearance he was truly a Lord now.  “When the men found you that skinny sword of yours was pierced through your leathers.  It was holding you to the hull of your boat by the smallest piece of frayed fabric.”

“Like a needle on to a thread,” she whispered, a shiver working its way down her spine.

“The servants will bring you suitable clothes, though maybe not for Arya Stark.  I believe Ser Davos has been holding your sword for you.”  Arya nodded, imaging herself slipping into an oversized gown of Lady Baratheon's.

“Where will you go?” he asked her. 

She knew where she had been headed, to see if going South would take her North, just as going West had brought her East.  But she had a ship then, and a crew beside her.  Friends made along the Northern cost of Essos.

“I suppose I will visit my brother.”

A strange look crossed Gendry’s face and her heart stalled in fear he would give her bad news of her family.  But he changed the subject instead, “So you found out what is west of Westeros then?”

She smiled that he had remembered before realizing she had never told him where she was going.  It had been too awkward when she saw him again in King’s Landing.  She had to say goodbye to her siblings and that had been hard enough.  “Who told you I was going West of Westeros?”

That strange look was upon his face again.  “Your sister,” he finally replied.

“You are in correspondence with Sansa?”  He nodded, a flush upon his cheeks.

“We try to keep in touch,” he replied awkwardly.  “We have things in common.”

She supposed they would now. 

“If you are traveling to Kings Landing to visit your brother I would advise that you leave soon.  The 10th anniversary of your victory is in three moons and your brother will be leaving for Winterfell soon.  Your sister hosted the six kingdoms for a great tourney and festival on the 5 year anniversary – The Festival of the Dawn they called it.  Everyone is excited to see how much grander it will be this time.  Though no one knows how Her Grace will outdo the first one.  Perhaps if you were there….”

“Will you be going?” she asked before she could stop herself.  He smiled and she could not stop the smile it brought to her own face.

“Aye, I’m expected to be there,” a funny look crossed his eyes.  “I might be needed.”  She gave him a strange look in response and there was that look again.  “Someone needs to give your brother a challenge in the melee,” he replied.  An excuse but she let it go at the prospect of being with all her siblings in Winterfell again.  “Jon will be there?”

“I think that’s the only reason your sister held the festival.  So Jon would come,” he replied.  “She convinced him that everyone wanted their chance to beat him in the melee.  That it would bring trade from all six kingdoms before the winter.  Besides if the man who slew the Dragon Queen would be there, then it might make people less upset that the girl who slew the Night King would not be.”

“Did you fight him?” asked Arya imaging Gendry and Jon faced off against one another.

“Aye, I did.  We were the main attraction I dare say.  Though I wonder how much more exciting it would have been had the people known his real identify.”

Arya stopped at this.  “You know about Jon?”  Had Sansa told everyone?  Was she too ashamed to have an exiled bastard brother?

“Aye.  But it’s not common knowledge.  As far as I know only myself, your family, Ser Davos and Tyrion are aware.”

She was about to question why Sansa had told him when the servant re-appeared holding a pair of pants and tunic for her.  She sat up higher in the bed to take it from her, smiling because Gendry must have told them not to bring a dress.

“If you are going perhaps we can ride together?”

He smiled before answering.  “I don’t know, should we tempt fate by traveling together.  And answer me this, are you asking because you want my company, or because you don’t have a thing to your name and want the use of my garron?”

“Both M’Lord.”

End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2 - Gendry Baratheon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all the kudos and comments, they help keep me motivated, so here's a new chapter

_Chapter 2 - Gendry Baratheon_

Gendry wished the journey from Storm’s End to King’s Landing was longer.  Riding alongside Arya the years and the responsibilities seemed to be stripped slowly from him.  He was a good Lord, or at least Ser Davos told him so, but it was a hard path to get there.  For so long his new responsibilities had felt more like a weight than a reward.  That first night he had erroneously thought being a Lord meant he would finally be worthy of her.  He had forgotten that she had never wanted to be a Lady, something that he understood better now.  He liked not having to be Lord Baratheon with her.  A bastard boy made Lord had to constantly guard against any signs of weakness with his people.  But on the road with Arya he was just Gendry again.

He looked at King’s Landing in the distance and his heart constricted.  The easy comradery that they had built on the road could not last much longer.  She was ready to get going again, a few steps ahead, already on her horse.  No doubt planning to set an even quicker pace to see her brother, the King.  She would return to her family and he would lose her again.

“I could have kept her sword from her until we got to Winterfell,” Ser Davos whispered in his ear and Gendry smiled.  “I don’t think she’ll kill me,” he whispered back.  Perhaps Bran would not tell her.  Perhaps the truth could wait until Winterfell.  But if Bran did tell her no doubt it would be in the most tactless way possible.

“You’re playing a dangerous game lad.  And I guarantee things will go better if you tell her yourself,” Ser Davos whispered back.  His oldest advisor gave him a sharp look before climbing back into the carriage that held his travel supplies and a few servants.  Of course, Davos was right.

Gendry gave his horse a swift kick and caught up with Lady Arya who looked pleased he was finally moving again.  Even though he had given her the slower horse she still managed to pull ahead at every turn.

“Arya, there is something I should tell you,” he stated when they were a good pace ahead of the rest of his party.

She looked at him expectantly.  No doubt she sensed the distance he had tried to maintain between them as they slipped dangerously close into old intimacies. Though he never knew if she saw him as anything more than a friend or surrogate older brother.  Had she chosen him or just the closest warm body that night?  Would she choose him again if he let her?  Had she sought the warmth of many bodies during her travels while he pined for her in his castle?  When she did seek the pleasures of the flesh did she ever think of him?

“The Festival of the Dawn was the first real celebration after all of the wars.  We had rebuilt, and people felt like we could finally be happy again.”

Arya nodded at him to continue, patting her horse gently to slow him.  She gestured for him to go on and he realized she must know he was holding something important from her.

“I was finally somewhat established in Storm’s End, and your sister had the castle of Winterfell almost back to its former glory.  There was pressure for alliances to form.”  He stopped.  He swore an oath to uphold this lie.  But even from her?  Perhaps he should wait, but she obviously knew that he was hiding something.

“I married Sansa,” he rushed out before he could change his mind again.  She looked at him for a long time.  She didn’t look heartbroken and it broke his heart.

“How does that work?” she finally asked seeming more curious than angry or upset.  But there was an odd emptiness in her tone and she looked more at her horse than him.  And that old hope bloomed though he know he was stupid to nurture it.

“I didn’t want to marry any of the ladies who were paraded in front of me.  They called me a puffed up bastard behind my back and smiled to my face at the thought of Storm’s End.  Sansa didn’t want to marry either so we did the practical thing and married each other.”

Arya looked at him like he was a being stupid again.  “I meant how are you married when you’re in Storm’s End and she’s in Winterfell.  Seems hard to make heirs that way.  And if you do are they the King in the North or the Lord of Storm’s End?  What name will they take?”

Gendry wondered how to answer.  We already have a son was the answer he was supposed to say.  But he was no Ned Stark.  And Arya was not her mother.  If there was any chance she could love him he would not throw it away on a secret that he felt shouldn’t be kept.

“She already has an heir.  Prince Stark was conceived during the first Tourney of the Dawn."

"And now we're traveling back to Winterfell so there can be a new little Lord of Storm's End?" she retorted.  Gendry swore for a moment he saw daggers in her eyes and he knew he had to tell her the truth.  At least part of it.  “Perhaps there will be another child for Sansa this tourney.  But he won't be fathered by me Arya.  I married her to save the child the bastard name but he is not mine.  We agreed that we would live apart.  That essentially nothing would change and we’d both be free from being forced to marry when we did not want too.”

Arya looked at him wide eyed.  “You thought nothing would change?” she whispered.  _You stupid bullheaded bastard boy_ implied by her tone.

She looked at him for a long time, before pushing her horse further but not so much that he could not catch up.  “Who is the father?” she asked quietly when he did, a menacing tone to her voice.  Though whether it was geared towards him or the man who dishonored her sister he could not tell.  But he would not give up the name, not even to her.  He owed him too much.  “You will have to ask your sister.”

They rode in silence for awhile longer.

“She loves him,” he finally added hoping it would make things better.

“Then why isn’t she with him instead?  Why does she need you?” she retorted back as Gendry felt his hope grow stronger as her rant continued.  “Does he not love her back?” she clenched the hilt of her sword, “Is he a complete idiot?”

Gendry smiled as they crossed the gates into King’s Landing.  “I think he loves her.  I think he was just scared, he couldn’t face her responsibilities.  He wanted to be free.  Surely you could understand that?”

Arya studied him for a moment, before nodding and taking off with his horse to the rebuilt Red Keep.  Or the Raven’s Nest as the small folk had taken to calling it.

End Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3 - Tyrion Lannister

_Chapter 3 – Tyrion Lannister_

Tyrion sat at the small council table with Pod half-heartedly checking over the accounts.  They had been left to care for the capital while His Grace was traveling to Winterfell.  It seemed like the rest of the realm had gone with him and Tyrion felt like he was being punished for something.  He wondered what Bran had found in his past lately to warrant it.

“So Pod, what did you do?” he asked, his focus fading as he realized that Bronn’s writing was impossible to decipher.  He would not be any help to the newest master of coin in his quest to audit the treasury over the last ten years.  For all Littlefinger’s sins at least his records had been legible.  Though long burnt to a crisp.

Ser Podrick was about to respond when a knock on the door interrupted him.  Tyrion looked up in shock a moment later when Pod let out a strangled gasp and a woman in trousers entered the council room.  He almost berated the knight for letting a stranger in before he recognized the long Stark features marking her identity clearly.  She looked more fearsome than he remembered, though her hair was longer and only half tied back, betraying more than a touch of femininity.  Perhaps that was what made her seem more dangerous.

“Is Bran gone then?” she asked, not bothering with niceties after ten long years.  Though, when you killed the Night King and were the sister of two monarchs he supposed you could get away with a lot of things.

“He left for Winterfell four days ago Princess,” confirmed Pod, his voice cracking like it hadn’t for years.  No doubt the boy was in awe of her.  She was more myth than human in Westeros now.  In fact Pad looked like he wanted to kneel to her but had forgotten how to move.

“He’s already left?” she asked looking to Tyrion to confirm.  She looked disappointed and Tyrion cursed Bran’s insistence at leaving seven days earlier than he had originally planned too.  Either he had not been keeping tabs on his sister, or he had purposefully left before she would arrive.  He highly doubted that His Grace had to rush to Winterfell for the sake of a pardon that had sat on his desk for almost ten years.

Tyrion was about to make apologies for his king when Ser Davos and Lord Baratheon appeared behind Arya.  “We’re too late,” she explained to her companions before Tyrion could greet them.  “Bran’s left already.”

Tyrion looked from Arya to Gendry to Ser Davos.  “You three are traveling together?”

No one responded and Tyrion remembered how lovesick Gendry had been when Arya Stark left.  He also looked a little too happy that Bran was not there.  “Your lady wife will be overjoyed to see her sister,” Tyrion continued, looking pointedly at the young stag and then to Arya who merely raised her eyebrows suggestively at Lord Baratheon.

“Aye, it’s a surprise for her,” Gendry agreed not looking half as guilty as Tyrion thought he should.  Perhaps the boy had more in common with his father than just being good with a hammer.

“A surprise for everyone,” added Davos, coming to his Lord’s defence.  “Lady Stark’s ship broke upon the rocks at Storm’s End, she almost drowned and has been recovering until recently.”  Tyrion watched the man.  He did not seem at all alarmed by the brothel eyes his two traveling companions were sharing.  But then perhaps he did not notice.  Davos hadn’t failed the realm by not noticing a Stark in love until too late.

“And none of you thought to send a raven with this news?” Tyrion retorted, studying them carefully. 

When Gendry and Sansa announced they were married it had made sense to him in an odd way – he had sat with them at the last feast and heard their mocking of their suitors, their dislike of the young lords and ladies of the realm who had not lived through what they had.  Then the child came soon after the tourney and it made even more sense.  He doubted the lad would ever be over Arya and Sansa was damaged in her own way.  But he had hoped they would find peace with each other.  Unfortunately the gods laugh at peace and delivered Arya to his door just when he should be focused on traveling to see his wife and working on an heir for Storm’s End.

“As Gendry says, we plan to surprise Sansa.  And we figured Bran would already know,” responded Arya matter of factly.

“You Starks and your secrets, but I suppose you have a point Princess Arya.  Please send my regards to your sister when you arrive.  I hold her in great esteem and wish her nothing but the best," he looked pointedly at both of them again.  "I know you must be eager to see your family again but I must insist you all spend the evening here.  The sun is starting to fall in the sky already and I would be remiss if I did not ensure your horses were refreshed and your bellies filled before you started on the rest of your travels.”

Arya looked like she did not want to waste any time, but bent to her companions need to rest - Ser Davos had nodded happily at his offer.  He called one of the few remaining servants to attend to them and pondered what exactly Bran was doing.  Ten years serving him and he was no closer to figuring out his motives.  But if Bran did not want to travel with them then there must be a reason.  So instead of worrying, he pulled the accounting books back out and handing them all to Pod.   He had a raven to send.

End Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4 - Jon Snow

_Chapter 4 - Jon Snow_

Jon had been out ranging.  At least that is how he liked to think of it, it sounded more dignified than acknowledging that he had really just ridden for two days straight to relay Sansa’s invitation to Tormund before turning around and riding two days back to the wall.  Usually he would spend at least a fortnight in Tormund’s village when he visited but he was eager to get back.  The wall had almost felt like home when he returned, the still broken edges reflecting the sun like a beacon.  There was no reason to fix it even if they had the resources to spare.  It would remain as broken as the few men who still manned it.  They had fixed up a few of the more salvageable towers along its length and used them to store grain and offer shelter to the people of the far North.  The seasons were shorter and more temperate since the Night King had been defeated but winter was still a formidable enemy.  In spring they planted the food that would last them through the winter.  From warriors to farmers and shepherds.

He had not been back to Winterfell in almost a year, and was glad for the upcoming festival giving him an excuse to return.  He knew instead of going to Winterfell that he should go out ranging one day and never return.  He could have Tormund tell them he was dead for closure.  He knew it was what he should do for Sansa’s sake.  Perhaps she and Gendry could have a real marriage then, with lots of little siblings for Robb.  It was thought of never seeing little Robb again that kept him from doing it.

Before Robb was born he had little regard for his life.  When he first returned to the wall he and Ghost went as far North as they could, where even Tormund didn’t dare to go.  They hunted game they had no business bothering and found the eerie forts of the Others.  He wasn’t sure why he didn’t freeze to death out there.  But death didn’t come for him, so he and Ghost slowly made their way back to the wall.  He found out there had been some skirmishes between the wildlings and Northern lords when food was scarce before the first spring harvests came.  So he started stockpiling the wall, planting and harvesting.  He would prevent anyone from needing to resort to stealing to keep from starving.

He did not travel to Winterfell in those years.  He did not venture south of the Wall at all.  He accepted his punishment – though not for killing Danaerys, only for failing to protect the people of King’s Landing from her, for failing to protect her from herself.  He would serve the people of the far North, and keep the peace to atone for his failings.  The wildlings treated him with respect but they would never bow to him.  They would never give him the power that could corrupt his Targaryen blood.  He was not exactly happy, but he was content.

Then Sansa had sent him the raven.  There was to be a festival to celebrate the anniversary of the victory against the dead and he was to be an honoured guest.  He read it as a summons from his Queen and not a friendly family invitation.  He almost declined it anyway.  But then Tormund had gotten wind of it and demanded that they go.  He wanted to see if the big woman would be there.  So he went and he let Tormund and his victory against Gendry get the better of him.  And the ale.

Sansa had told Tormund she was going to escort him to his chambers before he embarrassed himself.  In retrospect he realized she just wanted some time to speak with him alone, but at the time he felt like she was mocking him.  The bastard brother who would embarrass her.  The idiot who kneeled to a mad queen.  A fool who knew nothing.

They fought.  They said all the hateful things that they had held in for so long.  She accused him of abandoning her, and he accused her of plotting with Tyrion behind his back.  They each argued that they had only the best intentions for the North.  But that did not change the fact that they both felt betrayed by the person who had picked them up when they were at their lowest.  Who they trusted to have their back.  Their pack. 

_How can it truly be betrayal when I did it all for you._

Then she smiled – just the smallest quirk of the corner of her lip.  And he laughed – with only the slightest bitterness to it.  Then their anger melted away like the last of the spring snows.  They spent hours talking after that.  She had gotten up to leave and he went to hug her goodnight.  They didn’t let go.

He had woken up happy the next morning, and it had terrified him.  If he was to love her openly he would have to be Aegon Targaryen.  He would be pulled back into the game that killed everyone but the victors.  They could pardon him but what would stop Dany’s followers from trying to avenge her.  Sansa would be vulnerable.  He never shared his fears with her.  He let them percolate for a few more nights until all he could see in his dreams was Sansa with a dagger in her back.  He left a winter rose upon her pillow, and rode straight for the wall without saying goodbye.

It was Gendry who caught up with him two days later.  He used the excuse that he wanted to see the wall again or some such nonsense.  They both knew that Sansa had sent him to ensure he didn’t do anything stupid.   Gendry rode with him all the way to the wall and then stayed with him for almost a month.  The two set up glass gardens together, started a few new crops.  Then one day when they had exhausted talk about the battle of Winterfell and the weather Gendry asked him if he had heard from Arya.  They bonded over their love of her, though in very different ways. 

After that they really talked, about being bastard born, never quite belonging, and loving women beyond them.  Then one day Gendry commented that he thought they had a great friendship worthy of their fathers.  Jon had laughed until tears streamed down his eyes and then told him the truth.  He told Gendry about Sansa a few days later. 

Finally Tormund made it back to the wall.  Upset that the big woman had not attended the festival and happy that the new lord of Bear Island’s daughter had.  Tormund invited the two of them to his village but suddenly Gendry was in a rush to get back to his castle.  He promised Jon he would stop in Winterfell on his way back.  Jon asked him to tell Sansa he was sorry.

Jon stayed with Tormund for a long time.  But he eventually recalled his purpose at the wall, so he and Ghost made their way back again.  When he arrived to his small room he saw that there were ravens awaiting him. Several from Sansa urging him to come back, she needed to discuss things with him.  One from Bran announcing the marriage of Sansa Stark to Gendry Baratheon.  Then one that was unsigned but had to be from Gendry.

_A single noble is constantly paraded with suitors, and my love is west of Westeros.  A bastard's life is hard.  If you wish to pledge allegiance to the new prince of the North he will be arriving in two moon turns._

He remembered dropping the note to the ground.  Then riding for hard for Winterfell.  He had felt somewhere between terrified, excited angry and guilty.  He kind of felt the same way now looking at the raven from Tyrion that had arrived two days prior.

_Your sister, Arya, is heading to Winterfell with Ser Davos and Lord Baratheon._

He supposed he better ride for Winterfell now.

End Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5 - Meera Reed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my readers and especially to my commenters. I know a lot of you are looking forward to the Stark reunions... and they are starting in chapter 6, but please humor me with this little detour before we get there.

Chapter 5 – Meera Reed

Meera Reed never questioned her father.  He knew things that other people did not and she had long accepted it.  So when he asked her to ride with him out to the King’s Road even though she had been in her birthing bed only three weeks earlier she agreed.  She did not question why it was just the two of them and why he had a fine black silk bag clenched in his hand as they road.  Her husband had questioned the need for her to go, but he was not the Lord of the Crannogmen and so her father’s will prevailed.  She did wonder why her father had packed for a long journey for himself and just a short one for her.

“He will be here soon,” her father said as they approached a small inn along the road.  It was new, built in anticipation of the second Festival of the Dawn.

“Who?” she finally asked, sitting down on a log at the side of the road so she could nurse her small baby.  He was a fragile thing, much like her brother had been and she wanted to be home with him and her older children.  He was a slow nurser and had barely finished his meal when the royal carriage broke over the crest of the hill a half hour later.

“Bran Stark,” she replied, answering her own question.  It stirred up an old anger, and she wondered what else His Grace would demand of them.  She was thankful Sansa was their sovereign and she could deny him.

“He has taken enough from us,” she whispered to her father who only smiled at her sadly.  “Aye.  He has my daughter.  But it is not for himself that he comes.”

Meera pondered if Bran even had a self anymore.  He did however have a lot more servants now.  She had pulled him by herself through the North and now he traveled in a carriage with a team of men and horses.  When his carriage reached where she and her father stood she could hear Bran’s lifeless voice summoning them to enter.  Her father climbed into the spacious carriage without pause.  It took her a moment before she could let go of her misgivings and follow him inside.  The inside of the carriage was large enough for the petite crannongmen to stand tall and it took her a moment to see where Bran was seated.

“Howland Reed,” he greeted her father.  “Meera,” he greeted softly before quickly looking back to her father.

“I see that you have brought the mementos,” he stated, looking at the bag that her father now handed over to him.  “I wish it were enough, but it will not be.  I must ask that you attend the Festival with myself.  You would be a much honoured guest of both myself and my sister.  My maester has evidence to confirm your words as well.”

Her father nodded and Meera wished they would bother to tell her what was going on.  She knew her father had already decided he would travel with Bran but why was she here?

“Meera I asked for an audience with you,” explained Bran, turning his all-knowing gaze to her.  She feared for a moment he could read minds as well as see things.  She saw a spark in his eyes for a second that reminded her of a little boy long dead.  “I wished to thank you for all you did for me, and for the realm.”

 “Thank you your grace,” she softly replied, at a loss for what else she could say.  It was ten years too late and he was a king now.

“You must go home and tend to your children.  But there will be tourneys in your future.  Ones you will attend with your children.  Prince Robb will win one day, and he will crown your daughter.  It will be a great match for the North.  I hope it comes to pass.”

She nodded.  Her children may be Kings in the North someday, but that is not why Jojen died.  Not for a crown.  Did he think a crown could make up for everything that happened?  Was it the crown he held in highest esteem after everything?

“I will take your words under consideration Your Grace.  Now I must beg your leave.  As you say I have my family to attend too,” she huddled her son close to her and started for the door.  But Bran did not let her go without the last word.

“I know that I can never repay the debt I owe to you Meera.  You were my most loyal friend, and you would have stayed by my side.  The Night King would have killed you.  Love is more often cruel than it is kind.  I have hurt you.  But you are alive, you have a child, and the North kept one of its Great Houses.  I’m sorry for your pain, and for my own, but I would not change anything.”

She nodded to both Bran and her father then quickly made her way back to her horse before the tears fell.  She had hated him for so long.  And now she hated herself more for doing this to him.  She was the one who took him North, sealing his fate.  And now she got to go home to her family.  And he got to grow old slowly and watch the end of everyone else’s story.  He would forget it was what happened in the middle that mattered more than the beginning or end.

End Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6 - Sansa Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now to Winterfell.....

Chapter 6 – Sansa Stark

The grand hall of Winterfell was decorated in greys and reds and accented with numerous weirwood sculptures of wolves, wildling artifacts and even an elaborate carving depicting their victory at the war for the dawn.  There were also numerous books sitting on an easily assessable shelf that contained depictions of what had happened in the battle against the others, as well as the many battles before and after.  Written by many different writers.  The realm saw the festival as a great celebration of life.  To the Queen in the North it was a time to remind Westeros that when winter came, and hell fire burnt down upon them it was the Starks had been there to protect them.  That it was Bran Stark who now sat in King’s Landing and had given them ten years of enduring peace.

The Queen of the North was in the middle of the room playing her part as she smiled and greeted her loyal bannerman and the never ending stream of honoured guests from the South.  Her Queen face never cracked, even when Jon Snow was said to be riding through the gates of Winterfell and she could feel herself trembling on the inside.  If she greeted him somewhat more sweetly than everyone else when he made it to the grand hall no one commented on it.  A hug in place of a kind smile and a handshake was expected given his status as her supposed brother and war hero.  It was common knowledge that the North owed Queen Sansa their freedom, but they owed their lives to Jon Snow and Princess Arya.  The Northmen did not need a festival to remember it either.

Sansa had wanted nothing more than to speak with Jon in private after he arrived but duty denied her even the simple pleasure of a spare moment with the man she loved.  She could have kept him there with her in the great hall, the Northmen would not have protested.  Nor the few survivors of King’s Landing.  But there had been a few whispers five years ago that he had even been allowed to attend the tourney.    _Queenslayer, oath breaker_ and _bastard not be trusted_.  Bran said that every year the whispers were fewer, but they could not be ignored without putting their peace at risk.  Sansa also knew Jon well enough to know he would not do well with mass proclamations of love or hate so after greeting him she quickly sent him in search of Robb with a promise that they would speak soon.

 “Your Grace, where is Lord Baratheon?”

She smiled at Lord Glover and remembered overhearing him complain at the wedding feast that she had married a Southron bastard instead of a good Northern lad, or even her cousin Robin.  Someone else had chirped up that a hero of the Great War was worth ten cowardly lordlings.  That a woman like Queen Sansa could not tolerate a boy standing beside her.  She had ensured that man was knighted shortly after.

“Lord Baratheon will be here shortly,” she replied scarcely keeping the ice out of her voice.  She actually had no idea when he would be arriving.  Gendry usually sent a raven before leaving Storm’s End but this time he was oddly silent.  But she would never let Lord Glover know she could not keep track of her husband.  No doubt he would shake his head at her and tsk his lips like a concerned uncle and forget that she was his Queen.

“Your Grace, Winterfell looks even more amazing than last time,” came a friendly voice and Sansa turned to see Gilly Tarly, and her husband Samwell enter the room.  She greeted them both with a true smile and then favoured Sam with a Queenly Nod in acknowledgement of his status as Grand Maester.  

“If you are here I take it my brother will be arriving shortly?” she asked him.

“He was in the carriage behind us,” confirmed Sam.  Sansa would be glad to see her brother again but it meant she must make a Royal Greeting and not slip away to be with Jon and Robb.  “Jon and Robb are in the courtyard Sam if you wish to see them,” she whispered to Sam figuring at least one of them might as well be where they really wanted to be.  Then she left the grand hall to meet Bran at the gates of Winterfell.

Bran was just getting carried out of his carriage when she arrived.  She still expected Brienne to be with him even though she knew Bran had excused her to become the Lady of Tarth when her father passed.  So instead of the tall blonde lady knight there was a short brown haired man accompanying him.  She assumed he was a new servant until she recognized his coat of arms.  It was one of her own bannerman with Bran.  That was strange.

“Your Grace, Queen of the North,” greeted Bran and her heart twinged yet again at the loss of the little boy who climbed trees and smiled.

“Welcome to Winterfell Your Highness, King of the 6 Kingdoms,” she greeted back, before hugging him.  “I miss you Bran,” she whispered into his furs before straightening herself back up.  “I am honoured that you have come to celebrate the ten year anniversary of the defeat of the Others, and to celebrate the continued co-operation between the North and it’s fellow Kingdoms of Westeros.”

The crowds who had gathered to see them cheered but Bran merely nodded and asked to speak with her privately.  He gestured for the small man with him to come as well.  It was not until they were alone in their father’s solar that Bran properly introduced the man with him.

“Sansa, this is Howland Reed.” 

Their father had always spoken highly of the Crannogmen, Howland in particular, and she was aware that Bran had been helped by his daughter Meera.  But the Crannogmen had been strangely absent during the rest of the wars, had not attended her coronation nor came to pledge their allegiance in the last ten years.  They had stayed in their bog.  And now he was here with Bran.  Greywater Watch was very southern and some people said Moat Cailin was the true entrance to the North.  Did they mean to steal some of her kingdom from her?  Would the man rather bow to a son than daughter of Ned Stark?

“Your Grace,” Howland greeted her as she regarded him warily.

“Why is it that you have come My Lord?” she asked effusing her voice with false kindness.  Men who thought her weak often let down their guard and their intentions too quickly.

The man did not answer but looked to Bran who regarded her curiously for a moment before answering.  “He comes on my request.  He was with father when he found Aunt Lyanna, and he can attest to Jon’s true identity.”

Sansa looked at them both in surprise.  “And why would that be important?” she asked.  She never told Bran about Robb but she knew that he knew.  It was an uncomfortable truth that she did not like to dwell on.

“After the tournament I mean to pardon him from his service at the wall,” declared Bran.  Sansa looked at him in shock.  Bran had said Jon’s service in the Night’s Watch was necessary for peace.  And now suddenly he could walk free?  Now when she was already married to another, and had named their son to be someone else’s.

“Why now Bran?  And why should a pardon require his true identity?”

Bran smiled.  Not the smile of the little boy but the self-satisfied one of a king.  “Because he will accept the pardon now, and so will the realm.  Ten years ago not enough people knew what he did.  Samwell’s history books have certainly painted him in good favour and we have ensured all maesters are teaching it to their lords.  The unsullied have left and so have many of the Dothraki. But he still needs to be Aegon Targaryen.  If a nameless bastard kills a Queen he is an oath breaker, but if a King kills a Queen he is a victor.”

Sansa nodded.  It made a queer kind of sense.

“And if he is Aegon, you could marry,” Bran added and she swore she saw a twinkle in his eye for just a moment.

Jon sitting beside her in the great hall.  Ruling Winterfell with her.  Being a true father to Robb.  It was a stupid girl’s dream that flashed before her eyes at Bran’s word.  She had never hoped for that, not even in the deepest pits of her heart.  She had Robb and that was more than she had ever hoped or dreamed for.  She would not start now.  “I’m already married,” she replied quickly, squashing down the hope that threatened to take life despite herself.

“It was not a true marriage, it can be annulled,” declared Bran.  Sansa looked at Howland Reed with alarm.  “My lady, I assure you that I can keep a secret,” he comforted her, and she supposed she could believe him though he did look a bit uncomfortable to be witness to this conversation.  “Even if the people were agreeable to it all, the pardon, annulment and marriage, it would make Robb a bastard,” she stated.  “And his place as future King of the North would be at risk.”

She had to make Bran see that he should not promise people things that could never be.  It would only hurt them all more in the end.

“Not if you married Jon in the God’s Woods before he returned to the wall.  In order to protect him you and Gendry entered into a sham marriage.  It’s why you married Gendry in Southron tradition with a septon and not in the Northern tradition.”

“That’s not the truth though Bran,” she whispered back.  It was such a tempting story.  She briefly wondered how much of Bran’s histories were false.  Could she even trust her own brother anymore as he plotted lies while sitting in their father’s solar?  What would father say?

“No.  It’s not Sansa.  But it could be.  If we all claim it to be truth, who is to argue?”

“No one,” she agreed, though perhaps Jon himself might have misgivings.  And then there was still the potential fall out for Gendry.  It was something she could not let herself ignore.

“And what of Gendry Bran?  This revelation will hurt his rule, and I cannot treat him so poorly after all he has done for me.” 

His match with the Queen of the North had silenced the more relentless Lords and their daughters who wanted to be the next Lady of Storm’s End.  But their marriage had also given him more legitimacy with his bannerman.  People could more easily forgive him being a blacksmith and a bastard when he had the Baratheon look, and had won the favour of a Queen and a Stark.  When it was all revealed to be a farce he would lose face and potentially even his Lordship.

“Do not worry about Gendry.  No one will dare threaten him.  And you have not used him.  You saved him.  Otherwise he would have given in and married someone else.”

“That makes it worse Bran,” retorted Sansa.

“No Sansa, it does not.  This way he is free just when he needs to be.”

She had more questions but Bran gestured for Howland to wheel him out and she was left alone in her father’s solar with her thoughts.  She knew she should go back to greeting her bannerman.  Or go find Jon.  But instead she sat in the solar and contemplated Bran’s words.  Could it really be that easy?  Could she annul her marriage with Gendry and marry Jon?  If Bran thought it was possible..... but did he have her best interests in mind?  Did he want her to be happy, or did he mean to strengthen his own position?

End Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7 - Ser Davos Seaworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ser Davos wanted a chapter of his own... so here it is.

Chapter 7 – Davos Seaworth

It was a long ride to Winterfell and he knew this would be his last trip.  He would return to Storm’s End with Gendry after the festival and be content to stay in the Storm Lands for the rest of his life.  He had relented to taking a carriage to save himself the sores from a saddle, and yet even the carriage jilted all his bones and made him feel the gout in his big toe.  He was far from the great smuggler he had been in his day.

He stretched his legs as he watched Arya and Gendry light the fire.  She had shot a rabbit and Gendry had skinned it with his knife and now they were preparing to cook it.  So many simple activities they did together on the road without thinking anything of it.  But he could see how well they worked together.  They made him miss his Marya and damn all the years he had her but wasn't with her. 

He wondered if he ought to go back into his carriage and give them some privacy.  Nothing untoward had happened between them that he was aware of, other than a few longing glances and a hand held during a late fire they thought he didn’t notice.  He wondered if it was because they saw him as a chaperone.  He hoped they weren't holding back on his account.  The lad might be married to her sister but Davos knew the truth of the matter.  Gendry had admitted it was a political match but hadn’t told him more than that.  But Davos had been there when Gendry held Sansa’s son for the first time.  He’d also been there when Jon Snow did.  He had seen the man rise from the dead, and that day he'd seen a man brought back to life. 

It was an understatement to say he had been quite troubled about his suspicions until they passed through King’s Landing on their way back to Storm’s End.  Bran Stark told him the truth about Jon and assured him things would sort out eventually.  He had been hurt Jon hadn’t told him the truth himself but he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to deny Targaryen blood after everything that happened.  But looking at Arya and Gendry now he hoped they were almost at eventually.

“If we ride hard this evening instead of making camp we could be in Winterfell before morning,” urged Arya.  She took a moment to admire the fire she had started before picking up a stone to sharpen her little sword.  Gendry pretended not to hear her while he roasted the rabbit.

“It will be nice to be off the road,” Ser Davos agreed, waiting for Gendry to make up some excuse to delay their journey.  The lad clearly was in no rush to get to Winterfell and His Lordly responsibilities.  Ser Davos had no doubt that once they were in Winterfell Gendry would be the perfect doting husband to Sansa, putting on the show expected by the Northern Lords who already resented his marrying their Queen.  He would play with little Robb in the yard and spar with him for all to see.  He would smile and take the good natured ribbing of the visiting wildlings for being a “stolen man” as they called him.  He would put on a good show.  In fact Davos would not doubt if he was genuinely happier in Winterfell than Storm’s End.   

But Gendry would not be a fraction as happy as he was now on this road with Arya.  Given the fleeting nature of happiness Ser Davos had almost suggested to the lad that he ought to run away with her.  But then he remembering how eloping with Stark women worked out in the past and thought better of it.  Besides, he hoped Lady Arya could make her siblings see sense.  Though he could not attempt to guess how she would take that particular revelation.

He wished he knew what they were thinking.  Gendry stepped away to make water and he inched closer to Arya.

“My Lady, you know that Gendry will have to be different when he gets to Winterfell,” he started, not sure how she would react to someone commenting on their relationship. 

“I know that Ser Davos,” she replied, a slight annoyance in her tone that did not seem like it was directed at him.  “He will be my sister’s husband, and I will be an aunt to his child.  I will play my role, you needn’t worry.  I’m very good at being someone else.” 

She looked like she was bracing for him to argue with her.  As if he would deign to lecture Arya Stark.

“That’s good my princess.  And it will have to be that way tomorrow.  But we’ve been riding hard and the festival has not started yet.  There is no reason that you can’t give each other tonight.”

The girl looked at him in shock, but then she smiled.  The feral smile of a wolf before she stalked off to find Gendry. 

Ser Davos helped himself to a feast of rabbit and then picked up a small piece of wood and his carving knife and sat down by the fire.  He wondered if he should work on a little stag or wolf first?

End Chapter 7

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it was short. He didn't have much to say. The next chapter is longer. Arya has a lot of things to say.


	8. Chapter 8 - Arya Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the scene I wrote the whole story around..... it didn't come out quite as nice as I imagined in my head but hopefully it's okay and I did it some justice.

 

Chapter 8 – Arya Stark  

She rode through the gates of Winterfell to a load roar of recognition, Gendry and Ser Davos riding sheepishly behind her.   She ignored the crowd vying for her attention as she dismounted from her horse.  People milled around her but she spoke to no one as she studied the building in front of her.  Sansa had done it.  She had rebuilt Winterfell to its former glory and then some.  Arya looked around in pride and awe as she slowly made her way to the Great Hall.  She then turned her focus from the building to the people around her.  She was surrounded by everyone except for the people that she really wanted to see.  She could not help but feel peevish at them for missing her grand entrance despite not warning them she was coming.

“Princess Arya, you are a vision for sore eyes,” greeted Lord Manderly, the other lords lined up behind him ready to greet her.  She knew it wasn’t what Sansa would do, but instead of smiling and greeting them each in turn she demanded to know where her family was.  Thankfully it was mostly Northmen in the room who would not take offence easily.

“Your sister and brother were in conference together, though His Grace was seen retiring to his chambers a few moments ago.  I expect your sister should be returning here shortly.  I believe your half brother and nephew are in the court yard…..”

Lord Manderly did not finish his thought before she was pushing her way past him leaving Davos and Gendry to make excuses for her.  She had not seen Jon in ten years and catching up with him seemed like a much better idea than staying around to watch Sansa and Gendry’s reunion for the lords.

She made it to the court yard a few minutes later but could not spy either Jon or a boy that looked like her nephew.  She did see a few children playing with wooden swords and a fat man in a maester’s garb watching them closely.  He looked familiar.  “Samwell Tarly?” she asked tentatively hoping she had remembered his name properly.

The man looked up and then smiled in surprise.  “Lady Arya,” he exclaimed warmly walking towards her.  “I did not know you were supposed to be here this year.  This is quite a pleasant surprise, your account of the…..”

“Is Jon here?” she asked pointedly before he could continue rambling.

“Robb fell in the mud and he took him to get fresh clothes,” replied Sam.  “While we are waiting for them to return do you think I could ask you….”

She left before he could finish his question.  Before she could wonder which room was Robb’s, her feet had already taken her to where her older brother’s quarters had been when they were children.  The door was open a crack and she could not help but spy on the two occupants for a moment.

She did not realize until she saw him, but she had expected little Robb to look like _Robb_.  He didn’t.  He had the same short curly hair she remembered her brother having, but his was much darker, and his features and build more delicate.  He had the long face of a Stark.

Jon was reassuring him, telling him that they did not need to tell his Mama about the accident in the training yard.  It would be their little secret he promised as he helped him pull on a fresh pair of trousers.  Jon looked older than she remembered, older than he should.  Like the world had weighed him down with loss.  He looked like father.

Robb spied her at the doorway first, before Jon did.  He creeped over to her while Jon continued to root through some trunks on the other side of the room.  “Who are you?” he whispered picking up his wooden sword as if deciding whether he needed to fight her.  When he looked up at her it struck her that his eyes were blue.  Tully blue.  One could believe Baratheon blue.  Half-dressed and brandishing a sword. The child could be hers.

“I’m your Aunt Arya,” she replied, grabbing his sword from him and twirling it in her hand.  He was angry at first but then looked at her in awe.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked.  But by now Jon had looked up, clutching a child-size direwolf embroidered tunic in his hand.

“Arya, is it really you?”

The deep Northern brusque.  He had father’s voice now too.  She looked up from Robb and smiled at him, and he took it as an invitation to walk across the room and pull her into his arms. 

“Aye,” she confirmed letting Jon’s familiar presence ease some of the tension she was holding in her body.  The grief at losing her ship, the turmoil in her heart over the long weeks on the road and the shame that warred with pride over her actions last night.

“Uncle Jon you know Aunt Arya?” asked Robb excitedly interrupting their reunion.

Jon pulled away from her and chuckled at the boy, as he handed him his tunic to put on.  It was father’s smile.  He helped Robb finish his buttons and then pulled him up on his shoulders.  Father had done that to them when they were small.  Arya felt a strong longing go through her.  She had forgotten about this.  About her childhood. The family they had been before Robert Baratheon came.  She had made a family on that boat, but standing here watching Jon and Robb she felt the need for something more.

“Arya?” asked Jon and she smiled to ease the concern written on his face.  But he knew her better than that, even after all these years.  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he prodded sitting down on the trunk he had been routing through, Robb rocking on his shoulders.

“I want it now,” she whispered, deciding that now that she could not have it, she could at least admit she wanted it.  Could admit that before she crashed unto those rocks at Storm’s End that her treacherous heart had been tempted to steer her boat to port.  Shortly before the storm she had told her crew that she could have been the Lady of the Castle in the distance.  They had laughed, but she had wondered about the life she could have made.

“Want what?” asked Jon, lifting Robb down from his shoulders and placing him on the floor. 

“A family,” she replied softly looking at Robb where he stood clutching Jon Snow’s legs.

Jon smiled at her as he absent mindedly ruffled Robb’s curls.  The same way he’d mussed her hair when they were little.  “You have that here Arya.  You always have.”

She smiled back at him wistfully.  “I meant one of my own.”

Jon smiled sadly and then bent down to whisper something in Robb’s ear.  It sounded suspiciously like lemon cakes.  The little lad smiled at him wildly and then called loudly for another man.  The man came a moment later to escort him presumably to the kitchens.  Jon looked to make sure Robb was being safely escorted before closing the door firmly.

“You came with Gendry.  Do you care for him?” he asked softly – a strange stilt to his voice as if he rather not know the answer.  What brother did want to know about his sister’s love live?  His directness surprised her though, and it must have shown on her face because Jon explained that Gendry told him they were close before.  His voice was pitying, and it stirred her anger.  She was not some lovesick fool who needed to be comforted.

 “He’s married to Sansa now,” she replied matter of factly.  “If I care about him or not hardly matters.”

Jon studied her for a long time.  “It might,” he finally replied.

It suddenly occurred to Arya that Jon’s tone was not one of pity, but of guilt.  He looked not like he was sorry for her pain, but like he was causing her pain.  Then her mind flashed on Robb and Jon together in the room.  He had been just like father.  Robb looked just like a Stark.  He could be _Jon’s_ son.

“Robb’s yours,” she gasped sitting down on Robb’s bed in shock.  She looked at Jon to deny it.  Her father was proof that an uncle could love like a father.  But Jon did not deny it, instead he looked uneasily at the scar on his hands. 

“I didn’t know about Robb.  I was far North Arya and a war criminal besides…..” he whispered, still looking at his hands instead of her.

“She’s our sister,” blurted out Arya before he could continue.  “And not only that, she’s Sansa.”

Arya had seen the truth with her eyes but her mind had a harder time processing it.  Had she actually died when her ship sank and this was some sort of hell created for her.  How had Jon and _Sansa_ ended having a son together?  God she really did not want to think about THAT. 

“Bloody hell Jon you’ve really buggered things up,” she scoffed in response to his silence.  Because what could he say to make this okay.  She ran her hands over the soft fabric of Robb’s bed to keep herself from grabbing Robb’s discarded wooden sword and beating Jon with it.

“What was I supposed to do?” he pleaded with her and the pain in his eyes made her regret for a moment relishing in the mental imagery of attacking him with the sword.  “Sansa and Gendry were already married when I found out about Robb.  And there is the small fact that I’m on a life sentence at the wall.”

“Well you could have not slept with our sister,” retorted Arya.  “But I suppose if the dragon has to come out then that’s preferable to mass murder..…”

She regretted saying it the moment it left her mouth but in her defense the whole situation was so absurd she was hardly thinking straight.  But she obviously touched a nerve with Jon because he jumped up from his spot on the trunk to look down at her where she was sitting on the bed.  “Would you rather Gendry was sleeping with Sansa instead?” he demanded.

Arya looked up at Jon in shock, the anger apparent in his eyes when he mentioned Gendry and Sansa.  “You hate that they’re married too,” she whispered. 

And Arya suddenly realized that Sansa and Jon might actually love each other.  Sansa had been right about Danaerys in the end, but it did not change the fact that she had been jealous of the dragon queen when she visited Winterfell.  At the time Arya thought Sansa coveted her power.  But maybe that had never been it.

“Do you love her?” she asked.

Jon sat back down before nodding slowly and her heart broke for both of them.  “Arya, you have to know that if things were different I would be standing by Sansa and little Robb’s side.”

She rolled her eyes at that.  He was only bound by his own honour and need to punish himself.  Didn’t he know that they could make things different? 

“But Jon, she’s a Queen, and Bran’s a King.  You were born one as well.  We can do whatever we want.” 

Jon didn’t argue with her, but remained in the room with her lost in his own thoughts.  She laid down on the bed and studied the ceiling.  They were quiet for a long time until Jon leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder. 

“That sounds lovely Arya, I wonder if my father told my mother something similar before they ran off together,” he said, and she knew she was being childish if she thought it could be that easy.  She wanted things to be easy for a change, and not one long circular fight for vengeance and then redemption.

“I could never put Sansa and Robb into that kind of danger,” Jon continued while her mind tried to find ways to make it work for them.  Because as weird as it was to her that they were together she wanted them to be happy.  Maybe if Jon and Sansa could be happy together their could be hope for her as well.

“Maybe you are leaving her in danger by not being with her.  The pack survives, and it was together that you took back Winterfell,” she argued, taking his hand off her shoulder and holding it in her own.

“I can’t risk her life,” he bit back at her words, pulling his hand away from her.

She stayed quiet, willing him with her eyes to tell her the fear he was holding in his heart.  She wondered if it was like her own.  That no one could ever truly love her true self, knowing all the terrible things she had done.  That she did not deserve to have a family of her own.  That if she stayed with Gendry she would not be able to love him like he deserved.  That there was a rotten part inside herself that would contaminate all those she loved.

 “My own mother died birthing me.  My first love was shot by my steward and died in my arms.  I killed Danaerys myself.  I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Sansa.  If I killed her like all the other women I have ever loved.”

“You saved me,” she burst out, not able to stand the tears and pain on Jon Snow's face which so closely mirrored her own secret fears.  

He looked at her incredulously, “But I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most,” he argued.

“That didn’t matter Jon.  You always accepted me for exactly who I was," she said remembering how she felt when Jon Snow gave her needle.  "And you’re right, you never slew my demons for me.  But you gave me needle, and I was able to do it myself.”

Someday she would tell him all the times needle had saved her.  But right now she pulled him into her arms and swore to herself that she would make him her brother again.

End Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9 - Sansa Stark

Chapter 9 – Sansa Stark

Sansa heard a knock on the solar door and her first instinct was to ignore it.  She needed more time to think about Bran’s words.  But the festival was nearly upon them and she needed to ensure all things were on track for the opening feast that evening.  She did not have the luxury of hiding in her solar all day.

“Come in,” she commanded wondering who it was who had tracked her down.  She thought it was going to be one of the kitchen servants needing instructions, or maybe a high lord who was concerned she was not in the Great Hall giving them their due respect.

The door opened and she could only stare at the woman who entered in shock.

“Arya?” she asked a few moments later, before standing up and quickly pulling her sister into her arms.  She had given up hope of ever seeing Arya again and to embrace her in their father’s solar was such sweetness that she could not help the few tears that slipped down her cheeks.

“How are you here?” she asked a moment later, wiping the tears from her eyes to get a better look at her.  Arya had changed very little.  Her skin was tanned, her hair a touch longer but she was otherwise the same.  It seemed odd to Sansa given how many years and moments separated them now and how she felt so changed herself.

“My ship sank,” she explained offhandedly and Sansa got the feeling that Arya was here with an agenda.  But she would ask her about it later, now was the time to catch up with her sister.

“Your ship sank?”

Arya only nodded, apparently not wanting to elaborate.  Perhaps it was too painful.  Sansa could understand that.  There were things she never talked about.  The two women sat down on opposite sides of their father’s table.

“Why has Jon not been pardoned yet?” Arya asked suddenly, picking up a pen that had been sitting on the desk and twirling it in her fingers, paying little mind to the ink that stained her thumb.  Sansa felt her heart stop for a moment.  She was not ready to tell Arya about Jon, and her question came at an odd time - right after her conversation with Bran.

“Did you ask Bran for him to be pardoned?” she asked wondering if Arya was the catalyst for Bran’s sudden decision to proceed.  She felt momentarily angry if that was the case, surely Robb’s birth should have been a greater motivation than Arya’s request.  But then Arya was his hero in a sense.

Arya studied her for a moment.  “No.  I thought I would ask you.  You’re his Queen aren’t you?”

“You know I don’t have any power over Jon’s fate,” Sansa replied, worried Arya thought she meant to punish Jon and keep the North all to herself.  Where had Arya been when she had funded volumes of texts depicting Jon’s heroic deeds?  Where had Arya been when she defended Jon’s right to visit Winterfell as an emissary from the wall?  When he was declared the winner of the first tournament of the Dawn and she led the North in enthusiastic applause.  Arya had not been there, and had no right to accuse her for leaving Jon to his fate when she was doing everything she could.  Perhaps the real question should be if Jon even wanted to be released from his fate.

“Do you want him to be pardoned?” asked Arya, and Sansa felt her anger rise.

“Of course I do Arya.  But it’s not a simple as you and Bran seem to think it is.  The Targaryen name is hated in Westeros….”

“What does his being pardoned have to do with anyone finding out he’s a Targaryen?” cut in Arya.  Sansa studied her for a moment, angry at herself for slipping up and wondering if Arya knew.  But her sister might as well have been wearing a mask for all her face gave away.

“Bran said that if we name him a Targaryen then he would not be viewed as betraying his Queen as he technically outranked her.”

Arya rolled her eyes.   “He doesn’t need a better reason for killing Danaerys than the one he had.  But perhaps you have reasons for wanting him named as a Targaryen.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush.

“Robb is the spitting image of Jon, do you think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Arya continued, putting the pen back in the inkwell, leaning back in her chair and placing her feet on Sansa’s desk.  “Jon seems to love you.  I don’t know how you feel about him though, if you love him or if you’re just manipulating him to some end.”

“How could you accuse me of that?” Sansa asked, feeling like they were back in Winterfell before Lord Baelish’s death when they were at odds with one another.

“Jon will always be my brother, and I worry for him.  When I came back to Winterfell the first time I could see you wanted to be Queen, and Jon was in your way.  I feared what you would do to him, or at least let happen to him.  Then Danaerys came and you told Tyrion the truth.  I have my theories but I never understood exactly why.  You name him Targaryen and he loses the respect of the North and you are made Queen.  He becomes King of the Seven Kingdoms and Winterfell is safely yours.  What was your plan anyway?  Or did things turn out exactly as you wanted them too?”

Sansa pushed Arya’s feet off of her desk.  “I knew Jon didn’t want the iron throne.  It was all Danaerys wanted, excepting Jon himself.  I thought that maybe if Jon’s claim was known that Danaerys would relinquish the North if he denied his claim to the rest of the kingdoms.”

Arya studied her for a moment.  “You wanted Jon and Danaerys at odds with one another.”

“I wanted Jon safe and the North free,” she argued.  “I had hoped she would want to keep him as far away from the iron throne as possible when she knew.  In a perfect world Danaerys and Cersei would have taken care of each other and the South would be too weak to bother us.”

Sansa knew it was a very Cersei sentiment but for all her faults the woman did have a certain cunning.

“And you weren’t worried she would just kill him?” asked Arya, as if to imply that perhaps part of her wanted, or wouldn't care if Danaerys killed him.

“I considered she might.  But then she truly loved him,” replied Sansa. 

“Do you?” cut in Arya.

Sansa stood up from the table and straightened out her gown.  “You are so concerned that I am going to hurt Jon.  But he abandoned me for Dragonstone just when we took back our home.  He disappeared into the far North for years at a time.  Left me here wishing I had someone to ask if I was making the right choices.  Worrying if he was even still alive.  He abandoned me for the far North after…. After Robb.  He’s always leaving me when I need him the most.  Perhaps I’m not the one you should be lecturing.”

Arya stood, blocking her exit to the door just when she meant to return to her hosting duties. 

“Perhaps not Sansa.  But you are the one who married the man I love.”

Sansa let out a deep breath.

“I was pregnant and alone Arya.  Someone had to be Robb’s father and Gendry was there and a friend.  Jon was not answering my ravens.  And what was the alternative?  Tell them that my half brother was the father – I would be seen as another Cersei Lannister.  Tell them a Targaryen was the father with the Targaryen madness so fresh in people’s minds.  Besides you left Gendry too Arya.  You abandoned him when he had a terrifying new role.  You went far away and no one knew that you’d ever return.  God, I spent my wedding night with Gendry crying over you and Jon.”

Arya pulled her into a hug and she felt oddly like she had passed some test she should never have needed to take. 

“I’m sorry Sansa.  But we are here now.  And we can start setting things right.”

Sansa smiled at her sister and hoped she was right.  But in her nightmares they ripped little Robb out of her arms, declared him a Targaryen bastard and not fit to rule the North, not fit to even be allowed to even stay in the North.  They banished him to the wall with his father and she never saw them again.

“Is Gendry here then?” asked Sansa suddenly pulled out of her fears by realizing that Arya must likely had seen him again if she was proclaiming she loved him now.

“I left him in the Great Hall,” Arya replied, her eyes opening widely.

“You left him at the mercy of our bannermen?” asked Sansa in panic.

They both took off to save him together.

End Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10 - Jon Snow

Chapter 10 – _Jon Snow_

Jon was heading for the crypts.  He needed somewhere he could brood about his conflicted emotions in peace.  There were far too many people in Winterfell for his liking and he suspected even the God’s Wood would not offer privacy tonight.  Besides, down in the crypts he could tell his mother’s statue that little Robb ought to know who he really was, and he could hear the whisper from his uncle’s statue that the boy’s safety was all that mattered.  Then he would run his hand down the freshly carved marble wolf that held the remains of his best friend and the tears he had been keeping in would finally slip out.  He knew why Sansa had insisted Ghost be laid to rest in Winterfell, and gods how he had loved her for that.  He would look at the spot beside Ghost that he knew was reserved for him and wonder if his old fears would chase him out of the crypts or if he would be brave and stay.

Unfortunately before he could make it to the crypts he found himself summoned by a young boy wearing the signal of the Raven.  His Grace wanted a word with him. 

Jon had been waiting the last five years for Bran to track him down and confront him about Sansa.  He had expected a raven on many occasions, or even a royal summons so they could discuss things in person.  He could not imagine how the three eyed raven would react, he could only conceive of how a brother would.  Robb would have reacted with a swift punch to the jaw, followed by at least a few well-meaning threats.  He walked into Bran’s room feeling more than a little apprehensive as he starred at the stoic King of Westeros sitting calmly in his chair.  He missed Robb.  He might be nursing a few bruises, but he would know where he stood.

“Jon, thank you for coming,” Bran greeted then dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand.  He stared up at Jon from his seat for a long time before he spoke again.  “I need to go home,” he finally stated.

“Is everything all right in King’s Landing?” Jon asked, wondering why Bran would travel all this way and the promptly turn around again.

“Yes.  Tyrion and my council are very capable.”

Jon looked down at Bran in confusion, “Then why do you need to return?”

Bran looked similarly confused for a few moments, then his brow straightened.  “King’s Landing is not my home.  Nor is Winterfell, not anymore.  I belong with the weirwood trees far North.”

Though Bran had not given him leave to do so, Jon sat down on the bed beside Bran’s chair.  “You will give up your Kingship to freeze in the North?” he asked softly, wondering at Bran’s apparent change of heart.  He doubted the three eyed raven would do something without seeing the consequences but perhaps he was not considering everything.  “Won’t that cause instability in Westeros?”

Bran shook his head. 

“No.  Tyrion and has proven himself as my hand and the people have seen that he is a proficient ruler these last 10 years.  They want stability so they will keep him and the council, but they will never let him be king.  They will make checks and balances for him.  That will work out well for Westeros in the long term.”

Jon nodded.  If only there had been checks and balances for many of his ancestors.  “Do your sisters know?”

“I am telling you first.”

Jon wondered why Bran would choose to tell him first.  But he did not wonder long.

“I will abdicate my throne, and go home after the festival is over.  My last act will be to pardon you, and tell Westeros the truth about you.  Then you can rule the North at Sansa’s side, where you belong.  She should not be alone anymore.”

“Why do all that for me?” asked Jon, smiling at his brother as if he was a little boy telling him impossible stories instead of a king and a demi-god.

“Because it was supposed to be you.  It was your fate to be a king and my fate to guard the realm north of the wall.  We have borrowed each other destinies.  But now it’s time to set things right.”

Jon was beginning to think destiny was a load of horseshit, but he would not argue that point with Bran.  Not when there were so many other concerns about his plan.  “I cannot take any leadership of the North from Sansa Bran,” he pointed out.  She had ruled too well and worked too hard the last ten years for anything to be taken from her.  “And I won’t do anything that will put Robb at risk.”

“Robb will be revealed to be a Stark twice over.  He will be secure as heir to the North,” assured Bran.

Jon wasn’t so sure.  Bastards were being treated with more decency than when he was a child.  But they were still a long way from overlooking the sin entirely.  And if he did marry Sansa and had more children, what if they found out their brother was a bastard?  There was always the taint of the dragon blood threatening to come out.

“Bran, I don’t know if I can let you do this, not if we risk harming Robb,” he argued, knowing Sansa would do the same in his place.

“You would deprive him of his your presence in his life though?” Bran challenged.

“As it is he has both a father’s and an uncle’s love.  Anyone with eyes can see that Gendry cares for him.  And he has a mother who loves him too,” Jon argued, mad that Bran was trying to use his own feelings of abandonment against him.

“We could tell the people that you secretly married Sansa after the tournament, that the marriage to Gendry was just a sham..”

Jon looked scandalized.  “You want me to lie?"

“Sometimes there is honour in a lie.  And maybe it’s not as much as lie as you think.  Marriage is different in every time and place.  She stole you away from the Night’s Watch and won back your home.  She made you into a king and gave you arms.  She held a great tournament and hosted many bachelors of the realm to show their prowess and you were the winner.  You put a crown of roses on her head.”

Jon felt himself giving into Bran’s suggestion.  It wasn’t the honourable thing to do though.

_What is honour compared to a woman’s love?_

“Family comes before duty and honour,” Bran said.  “The lie would keep your family together, and your son safe.”

“How can he ever be safe if people know he is a dragon?”  _How can he be loved by the North?_

 “How is anyone ever safe?” countered Bran.  “I brought something for you," he added abruptly changing the subject.

Bran started picking up what Jon had assumed was a blanket off his lap.  When he turned it around Jon saw that it was really a cloak, with the red dragon of House Targaryen stitched unto it with fine red thread.

“What is that?” asked Jon, eyeing it with contempt.

“It was the cloak Rhaegar Targaryen gave your mother,” he answered.  “It will act as further proof of their marriage and your birth.  I also have testimony from Howland Reed who was there when my father found your mother.  Sam has brought the citadel records as well.  I thought you could also claim this to be the cloak you gave Sansa.”

He could never give Sansa that cloak.  “I can’t put a Targaryen cloak on a Stark Queen.”

Bran smirked and Jon realized he had expected the protest.  “Then how about this one?” he asked, picking up a beautiful grey fur cloak with the direwolf seal on it.

Jon picked it up and marveled at the quality of the cloak. 

“This was the cloak Rhaegar Targaryen took off your mother.  It was our grandmothers before it was your mothers.  It is an old Stark cloak and it deserves to be worn again, wouldn't you agree?”

Jon took the cloak from Bran and ran the fabric between his fingers.  He imagined gifting it to Sansa.  He saw himself sitting at the high table with her and little Robb, saw them spending evenings together by the fire. 

He was able to deny Stannis when he offered him Winterfell.  But if Bran was offering and Sansa agreed how could he refuse?

End Chapter 10


	11. Chapter 11 - Gendry Baratheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words on the last chapter. :) Poor Gendry is finally going to be saved from the great hall....

Chapter 11 – Gendry

Gendry had a few things going for him in the North.  He was Robert Baratheon’s son, a hero of the long night and had allowed Robb to carry the Stark name.  But while the Northerners looked on him favourably for those reasons, they did not let him forget that he was a bastard Southron who had yet to father an heir to Storm’s End yet alone a spare Stark for the North.  Usually Sansa’s presence squashed the more colorful comments but an unsupervised King Consort heard it all.  The ribald jests that he ought to stay around until things stuck this time, and the whispers that perhaps he was more like Renly than his father and that’s why there were no little siblings for Robb yet.  In fact hadn’t he gone off with the Queen’s brother and the strange wildling fellow for an awfully long time after the last tourney?

He was wishing Sansa would hurry up and arrive when he heard another woman’s voice pipe up from across the room in response to the gossip.

 “Yes, but Renly would have done his duty,” she began in earnest.  “It was Robert Baratheon who spent all his time grieving for his lost love that he ended up being cuckolded by … the Queen’s brother.”

It was not a popular opinion to take in the North that his father’s infatuation with Lyanna could have contributed to the Lannister’s actions.  And Gendry wanted to save his banner-woman from a painful argument about Cersei and Jamie Lannister with the Northerners.  He did not know her well, but he knew she had cared for Jamie.  The first time he had visited Bran in the capital they spoke about many things to help him with his Lordship.  Brienne had been guarding Bran when they were reviewing the history of some of the great houses including the Lannister’s.  She had flinched every time Bran mentioned Jamie’s name.  In the middle of the lesson Bran had stopped reviewing family trees to look around at the three of them only to declare that, “I don’t think that the your lovers left you for a lack of love.  More likely they were scared of what their love could do to you, what it could do to themselves.”  Then Bran had promptly gone back to reviewing genealogy.

 “Ser Lady of Tarth,” he greeted kindly as he walked up to where she was standing among a small group of Northerners.

 “My liege,” she greeted him warmly and he smiled genuinely for the first time since he found himself abandoned in the great hall.  Even Davos had wondered off on him and it was nice to feel he finally had an ally beside him.

“How are things on Tarth?” he asked, knowing that there had been a slight downturn in the marble trade in the last few years.  He had actually meant to visit Tarth before heading to the festival, but that was before Lady Arya had landed on his shores.

“We are doing well,” she replied looking at him inquisitively as if deciding to say something.  “Is it correct that Princess Arya traveled with you from Storm’s End?” she finally asked her curiosity winning out.

He was about to reply when the room suddenly became very silent and he looked up to see the crowd part for Sansa and Arya who entered the room side by side.  He held his breath as all eyes focused on the Queen and her sister who were both walking toward him.

“Gendry,” greeted Sansa first, dropping her sister’s hand to offer it to him.

“My Queen,” he replied respectfully as he bowed to kiss her hand.

“Brienne,” Sansa greeted next, affectionately moving on from him to pull the lady knight in for a hug.  Gendry moved to stand beside Sansa while Arya smirked at him from his other side.  He tried but was unable to suppress his blush.  It was much easier to be Sansa’s husband when the woman he really loved wasn’t standing their appraising him.

The awkwardness went on for at least another twenty minutes as he and Sansa smiled at Arya and Brienne while they talked about battle strategies.  When he finally got over his embarrassment from Arya’s presence and tried to put his arm around Sansa for the benefit of their guests, she quickly pulled herself away by finding someone else to greet behind them.  He tried again but again she pulled away.  Did she want people to think they were at odds with one another or was she really annoyed with him?  He had kept her sister’s fate from her and had neglected to write during his journey.  He knew his wife well enough to know that she liked to be in control in any situation.

The greetings were almost completed and people were breaking off into small groups for conversation when a roar of greetings and well wishes rumbled through the room.  He looked over to see Jon Snow walking in with little Robb on his shoulders – the young prince’s face covered in crumbs.

“You could have washed his face,” admonished Sansa as Jon made their way to them and she claimed Robb off of his shoulders.  She placed him on the ground beside her, straightening his curls and brushing the crumbs off of his mouth.

“We were in a rush to join everyone,” explained Jon as Gendry bent down to greet Robb.

“Father,” little Robb greeted him formally, holding onto his mother’s legs instead of running into his arms as he usually did when he visited.  It had been a long time since his last visit, as the Northmen had been so fond of reminding him.

Sansa did nothing to encourage Robb into his arms but held him tighter to her legs as she cleared her throat.

“My fellow Northerners, and honoured guests from the South, I hope to see you all this evening at the opening feast.  However I would excuse myself and my family for a few moments.  It has been too long since we have all been together and we ask for a few moments to greet one another in private.”

Everyone seemed understanding of her request and Gendry took little Robb’s hand as he walked out of the room behind Sansa, Arya and Jon trailing behind them.  When they finally reached Sansa’s private solar and all eyes were off of him he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Arya knows,” Jon declared once the door was locked and Gendry felt his relief double.  It lasted for only a moment before he felt a sharp pain on his arm.

“Did you just pinch me?” he asked in surprise, looking down at Arya who had that maddening smirk on her face.

“You could have warned me about them,” she retorted pointing to Jon and Sansa.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” he replied, hoping they would come to his defense.  But Sansa was focused on pulling Robb up into her lap and Jon was watching his family carefully.

“Bran wants to tell everyone,” Jon stated a moment later, still looking at Sansa and Robb as he sat down beside them.  Gendry pulled out a chair for Arya who pushed it back at him and then pulled out her own.

“What exactly?” asked Gendry taking his seat as he eyed little Robb sitting on his mother’s lap.  Robb had somehow gotten hold of another lemon cake and seemed more interested in eating it and snuggling into his mother than listening to the adults.

“Everything,” he replied and Gendry nodded slowly.

“Do you want that?” he asked, studying Jon carefully.

“Yes,” Jon replied, finding Sansa’s hand and squeezing it before he continued.  “But only if you all agree to it.  Bran wants us to lie and to claim that Sansa and I were wed by the old gods after the last tournament.  To keep Robb safe,” stated Jon looking at the boy who was almost asleep in his mother’s lap.  Gendry was fond of his adopted son and would certainly have no qualms lying to protect him.

“He told you he plans to pardon you then?” asked Sansa, looking at Jon an unreadable expression upon her face – somewhere between hope and fear.

“Yes.  And he thinks I should be King in the North again,” Jon replied, looking at Sansa carefully.  “I…”

“You always were to me,” she whispered back to him before he could protest.

“I could never take the North from you,” Jon mumbled and Gendry suddenly felt like he and Arya should be excusing themselves.  But when he looked at Arya she was watching them intently.

“Do you not want to be King?  To share in all the responsibilities of the North?” Sansa challenged him, looking at Jon so seriously before her gaze dropped to her son asleep on her lap.  “Because this is not a game anymore.  If you accept the pardon and come home, I expect you to stay home and rule beside me.  There’s no escaping your responsibilities after this.  I won’t allow it.”

Gendry looked away from the tears slipping down Her Grace’s face.  He wished again he and Arya could escape and give them privacy.  Unfortunately there were not many private places in Winterfell now, and none he and Arya could go without causing gossip. 

Jon wiped the tears away from Sansa’s face slowly with his thumb.  “I never wanted to leave,” he replied, removing his hand from her face to ruffle Robb’s curls.  “I’ve always felt like I never truly belonged, and I did not want to put you at risk by staying.”

“You should never have left.  You belong here in Winterfell beside me,” Sansa replied and Gendry’s heart broke at the pain in her voice.  “I should have told you that before you left for Dragonstone, I regret it took so long for me to say it.”

“Seems like you both were being idiots,” Arya cut in, earning her an annoyed glance from Jon and a hurt one from Sansa.

“Gendry, you will likely have a hard time of things when the truth comes out,” said Jon changing the subject, but still grasping his Queen’s hand tightly. 

Gendry knew he would never stand between the family before him and their happiness, certainly not for the sake of his own reputation.  “I’ll be a cuckolded fool like my father before me,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’ve been called worse.”  _Lovesick bastard_

Jon looked at Arya meaningfully.  She glared at her brother and then turned to him.  The look in her face was almost possessive and he felt his heart race.

“Maybe they aren’t the only ones who have been idiots,” she started nervously tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.  “I told you I couldn’t be a proper lady, and that hasn’t changed.  But maybe I could be your family?”

End Chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12 - Tormund Giantsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Tormund wanted a chapter too... and I couldn't resist.

Chapter 12 – Tormund Giantsbane

Tormund wished the red Queen would hold a festival more than every five years.  Watching the Southerners parade about showing off their extravagant bow and arrows and elaborate steel suits only to play at war was the most ridiculous thing he could think of.  But Gods it was fun to watch.  And celebrating not-dying was a great excuse to drink a little more ale and eat heartier than usual on the Queen’s copper.  He was well into his fifth ale and fourth drumstick when he realized that Jon Snow had eluded his revelry once again.  All week he had tried to convince Jon to join him, but the sneaky bastard seemed to slip out early each night.  At first he thought he was just getting his rest for the melee.  But then he realized his little crow was acting awfully strange.  He seemed to go from being his absolute broodiest to, god forbid, actually smiling.  He’d seen Jon Snow smile more in the last week than in the last five years combined.  In fact he’d been making himself down right personable and when the people flocked to him he didn’t even frown to scare them away.

Of course that got Tormund to speculating that Jon must have a reason to be acting so contrary to his nature.  More likely than not he was fishing for a pardon.  He had always seemed happy enough in the far North, so what had made him change his mind?  A woman was the only thing that made sense but Tormund had not found him with anyone other than his sisters.

“Where’s Jon?” he asked the deadly little Stark girl who happened to pass by him a few moments later.  She was the type of woman not even the bravest of free folk would try steal though he saw them all looking.  She smiled that sly smile of hers before shrugging her shoulders and continuing on.

Undeterred Tormund looked around for the other Stark, the red Queen to ask her where Jon was but she was nowhere to be seen either.  Her husband Gendry was still present, off in a corner talking to a few nobles he did not recognize, and that Davos man.  He wondered that Gendry was here socializing while his Queen was retired.  Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors – but then he saw Arya make her way over to him and nudge him.  She told him Sansa was requesting his presence and he went off pretty quickly with Arya to find his wife.

Then Tormund felt his heart skip, for he realized he had not seen the Lady Knight all night either.  In fact she had only come to one of the evening gatherings all week.  He wondered for a horrible second if Jon could have stolen her away from him.  Was that why he didn’t confide in him about his new lover?  With a belly full of ale and this horrible thought in his head Tormund ran off to confront Jon Snow.  He did not hesitate for a second as he entered the small entry way to Jon’s chambers, the outer door closing behind him as he grabbed and pulled open the bedroom door in one great pull that had the rusty lock go clanging to the ground.

It took him a moment to realize that Jon Snow was with someone as he expected, but it was definitely NOT his lady knight judging by the long red strands of hair draped over his back.

“Tormund!?” came the strangled yells from the little crow as he hastily pulled himself away from his lover.  Tormund’s eyes bulged out of his face as he realized the identity of Jon Snow’s mystery woman who was hurriedly trying to cover herself.

“Holy hell,” exclaimed Tormund, having enough frame of thought to close the door behind himself at the sight, but in doing so kept himself in the room with the two lovers.  “You’ll ride anything,” he murmured, awe warring with disgust as Jon Snow wrapped a sheet around himself and awkwardly walked over to him, using his half naked body to block Tormund’s view of his lover.

“Tormund, shush,” begged Jon throwing an apologetic look back at the horrified Queen of the North, his own sister, as he pulled the sheet closer around him.  Then he pushed Tormund back into the entry way of the room.

“She’s your sister,” Tormund whispered helpfully.

“And what are you doing in my bed chambers anyway?” Jon snarled back.

Tormund looked contrite for a moment, but it quickly passed.  “You should be grateful it was me.  Your sister and _her husband_ left the great hall and are looking for the Queen as we speak.”

Jon anger seemed to abruptly leave him, and he smirked at Tormund’s words – looking very like his sister in the moment - the one he wasn’t sleeping with.  But then he seemed to reconsider and frowned a little.  “We don’t have to worry about them,” he finally replied.

“Oh…?” replied Tormund.  “Were they going to join you?”

Jon sighed and gave him a withering look.  Then slowly revealed the long and confusing tale about how he was not the son of the man he thought, but the son of a prince.  Born a son of one of those fire loving silvery haired people that rode dragons and conquered things.  Southron family trees were confusing, but he think he finally had it figured out after Jon explained it for the fifth time.

“So what you’re trying to tell me, is that you didn’t fuck your sister, you only fucked your aunt and cousin.”

For some reason Snow could only gap at him after that.

“Don’t feel bad Snow,” he said putting his arm around his friend.  His mood was taking a turn for the better now that Jon had calmed down and stopped the history lesson he didn’t want to hear.  Please he wasn’t with his big woman after-all.  “We all have our appetites.  Yours is fire kissed relatives.  Now, did I ever tell you about my bear?”

End Chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13 - Bran Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see we all love Tormund. <3\. He's an easy guy to work with. Bran not so much....

Chapter 13 – Bran Stark

Chaos was a ladder but peace was a tapestry.  It required a million stitches placed carefully at the right moments.  And sometimes even the best placed stitches had to be ripped out to start anew.  He was learning when he had to stand back and let things happen, and when he had to nudge them into place.  He was almost done, the realm and his family in relative order until the next threat came.  But that would be a problem for his apprentice.  From now on he would be allowed to sit and see, keeping the raven’s eternal watch.  But for today he needed to be routed in the present.

First he watched Arya slip into Gendry’s tent unseen to help him put on his armour.  When he was fully dressed for battle she slipped a small ribbon out of her hair and tied it around his wrist.  He was a good man and would make his little sister happy.  She deserved happiness.  She was the only person he knew who had played death against itself and won.

He then moved his third eye to where Jon sat in his tent with a young Northern lad who had volunteered to help him.  Jon was holding a single ruby in his hand and seemed lost in thought.

The time for waiting in the tents was soon over and a moment later both Jon and Gendry were meeting each other in the courtyard.  They shook hands like the good friends they were, but none-the-less were soon clashing swords against each other.  Bran knew that whoever won, they would both be victorious.

Bran was not interested in the fight – he still preferred the jousting of knights - but he stayed in the moment less he miss when it finally ended.  He saw Gendry fight like a man possessed and Jon’s distracted defense.  He glanced at Sansa next to him who was watching them keenly.  Her nervousness only revealed by the shaking of her fingers.  Arya was on the other side of Sansa and did not move at all.

Finally it was over, Gendry winning the match - the final one of the tournament.  Jon shook his hand in congratulations, and then a lovely Northern maiden was handing Gendry a crown of winter roses.  Gendry looked at it dumbly for a moment, “You have to name your Queen of Love of Beauty,” the maiden whispered to him.

The Northern lords smiled indulgently at Gendry as he starting walking towards the Stark sisters.  All were waiting for him to honour his wife and their Queen.

“I name my Queen of Love and Beauty...….. Arya Stark,” Gendry sputtered out to the crowd’s surprise, blushing horribly as he walked past his wife and put the crown on her sister.  No one spoke as he did it, not even the wildlings.  Bran nodded to Sansa who left her chair to stand tall, as everyone watched her movements with pity.  Bran hated pity more than anything.

“My fellow Northmen, and comrades from the six kingdoms.  You have witnessed what you all believe to be a great dishonour to myself.  But Gendry Baratheon is not my husband, not in truth.”

Bran smiled as Sansa did not flinch at the gasps from the crowd.  She held her head up higher and continued, her voice rising over the protests. 

“Our marriage was a lie I told to keep my true husband safe.  The man I married five years ago after the tournament but could not take his rightful place standing by my side.  Lord Gendry Baratheon was a friend and agreed to act as my shield.  He has only ever been a good friend who protected me.  And he did it because of the love he had for my sister.  My sister who is the only reason we are all standing here today and who deserves every happiness.  As such I am delighted to announce the betrothal of Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End and Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Both Arya and Gendry looked horribly embarrassed now and Bran smiled as the crowd half clapped and half gaped at them.  “Well lad, go ahead and kiss her!” yelled Tormund.  Gendry flushed, but Arya turned to her betrothed and pulled him into an embrace that had a few mothers covering their children’s eyes.  Unfortunately the spectacle only detracted the crowd from their concerns about the Queen’s deceit for a moment. 

Now it was his turn to speak.

“I would like to say a few words now,” Bran declared and he cleared his throat to silence the whispering.  “Almost thirty years ago Rhaegar Targaryen crowned my aunt his Queen of Love and Beauty and started an unfortunate course of events that led to Robert’s rebellion.  When Robert Baratheon won Westeros believed what he did, that my aunt was kidnapped and raped.  But that too was a lie.  Rhaegar Targaryen was in love with Lyanna Stark and she with him.  She went with him willingly, and after his marriage to Elia Martell was annulled they married on the Isle of Faces.  Maester Samwell’s wife Gilly found records of this at the citadel.  It can also be confirmed by Howland Reed who was with my father when he found my dying aunt after the rebellion.” 

Howland stood up shyly and bowed in confirmation when Bran gestured to him but quickly sat back down again.  The crowd appeared confused as to the point but intrigued enough to continue listening.

“Howland can also attest to the fact that when they found my aunt they also found a baby boy.  Her son. My father knew that his friend Robert would have him killed, and to hide him was treason.  But his beloved sister begged for the boy’s safety, so my father took him home and claimed him as his own.  Jon Snow.  The bastard of Winterfell.  Born Aegon Targaryen.”

The crowd gasped and whispers ran through the courtyard.  Bran beckoned to Jon who slowly started walking up to where he and Sansa were standing.

“He was born a king but grew up a bastard and an outsider.  Nevertheless he became a king again by the deeds of his hands.  He brought his Aunt and her dragons to the North to protect us against the Others, and then he protected the North from her vengeance.  He never tried to conquer, but only ever protected us.  He does not deserve the name Targaryen.  For he has always been a Stark.  I hold in my hand my brother Robb’s will.  It declares Jon as his heir and legitimizes him as Jon Stark.”

Sansa looked at him in surprise, as did Jon who now stood in front of them.  But Bran was not done yet.

“Jon and Sansa were never close growing up, and did not interact as siblings when they were children.  They did not become close until they were re-united as adults.  They came together at their darkest hours and saved each other.  When they learned the truth about Jon’s heritage their regard for each other turned to love.  Five years ago Jon Snow wrapped his mother’s Stark cloak around Sansa and took her to wife.  Today, I am formally pardoning Jon Snow of his crimes in the South, so he may return to Winterfell to rule beside my sister.”

Jon smiled at him, hastily wiping tears as he took the cloak from him and slowly laid it across Sansa’s back, his hands trembling.

Some people were still silent in shock.  Others could be heard whispering about having a Targaryen and a Kinslayer as King in the North.  A lot were thinking about how happy their Queen looked.  Some just wanted to leave now that the fight was over but had to stay in case Their Graces were not done speaking.  Finally a few detractors stood and appeared ready to protest.

Arya Stark looked at them defiantly.  “Bow to your King and Queen in the North,” she howled, and a great chorus of voices suddenly rose above the protesters.  “To the King and Queen in the North!” they roared.

And his masterpiece complete, Brandon Stark left his siblings to their fanfare and quietly slipped away.

End Chapter 13


	14. The Epilogue

_14 – Epilogue_

Five years ago, Prince Robb Stark had fought in his first Festival of the Dawn.  He had done very well for his age, but had been easily outclassed by the veteran warriors.  But now at nineteen he was a man grown and the easy favourite to win.  He smiled at the crowd as he picked up his father’s Valyrian steel sword and took a few practice swings.   He smirked at his cousin, Brynten Tully, who he was preparing to face off against.  His aunt had warned him that Brynten fought like a man who has something to prove, but Robb was not scared.  He had bested his father in the yard to earn his sword and he feared no other competitor would be as challenging.  At least not until his cousin Gareth Baratheon was old enough to join the melee.

Perhaps he had been a little overconfident, he thought, as he found his arm tiring as Brynten continued on the offensive.  But then he spotted his Aunt and little cousins Catelyn and Flint Baratheon yelling at him to stick em with the pointy end and he dug deep for another spurt of energy.  He defeated Brynten with a few quick blows, and smiled as his cousins cheered him on.  Unfortunately his own siblings were not equally as interested in his success - his sister Lyarra was falling asleep in his father’s arms and little Aemon was already snoring in his mother’s.  At least Torrhen was watching intently.  But he still had a cross scowl on his face, and had ever since their mother told him he would have to wait until the next tourney to fight.

He went and stood by his family as his father announced his victory and the competitors for the final match of the melee.  He was facing Ser Podrick Payne – a Knight of the Council of the Six Kingdoms.  The man was a good fighter and the only veteran of the Battle of the Dawn competing this year.  The smart thing would be to delay the fight until tomorrow, given he had just come from battle.  But Robb told his father he wished to proceed now.  He had spotted the Crannog-woman Jyanna in the crowd and he did not know if she would still be here tomorrow.

As Robb and Podrick fought the crowd whispered.  They said that Robb fought like his father fighting the dead.  An elderly woman whispered more like his grandfather fighting for Lyanna Stark.  Though which grandfather was up for debate.  Fortunately in this tourney, unlike so often in life, fighting honourably, valiantly and nobly resulted in victory.  When Robb was given the crown of winter roses he did not hesitate for a moment.  He went straight to Jyanna with the confidence of a King, with only the redness of his cheeks betraying his innocence with women as he placed the crown upon her head.

From the applause of the crowd it did not take a seer to guess that Robb and Jyanna would someday be as beloved in the North as Robb’s own parents.  But thankfully their coronation day was still many years away, and even farther along was the day when their youngest child would venture North.  Her Targaryen blood mixed with the first men and the children.  She would be a warg even more powerful than Brandon Stark himself.  And when she came, he would train her, and his watch would finally be over.

Perhaps she would only sit in the trees and watch, preserving the memories of the world as she allowed time to stretch out until another took her place.  Or maybe she would be the Raven to alert R’hllor it was time to wake the Dragon Queen from where her body still lay in the talons of her dragon, both preserved in the volcanoes of Valyria.  For they had defeated the Night's King but the Queen still rested far in the North to someday rise again.  When the time came, the Queens of ice and fire would pull the realm back into the ancient battle for redemption or damnation.

But all this was very far in the future, and would only possibly come to pass long after the ink would dry for Brandon Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little fic was my own attempt to bring things full circle, and give a happier (and yes cheesier) ending to the characters we all have loved. I hope you have enjoyed it. It was fun to write (especially Davos and Tormund who really need more POV stories) and all your comments and kudoes were very appreciated. Thank you.


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